Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the trip never materialized. Anna watched her with curious eyes. What had happened to it? She had broken it, certainly. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. Jeremiah Jackson and Mr. She was suddenly grave. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again.
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